“…and so I told Mrs. Ramsey that I really didn’t care if I have to stay in a dorm; it’s long enough a commute for gas money and I just can’t stand the thought of having to have my dad pay for any more than he and Carole already have…” Kurt hugged the books to his chest and kept his head down.
Blaine considered this posture. Kurt held himself ramrod straight with good bearing as usual, but the way he kept his head down and refused to look most Dalton boys in the eye made it clear that he had yet to become truly comfortable in the new environment.
Blaine glanced at David, who was looking up from where he had been previously studying sheet music, also glancing at Kurt. The two Warblers exchanged a glance that acknowledged what they had both noticed, and the lead Warbler turned to the prospective one: “Well, we’d be more than happy to have you at our dorm, of course.”
“Oh, you board?” Kurt blinked up at him.
“Windsor.” Blaine nodded, averting his gaze with as much of a casual air as he could adopt—whenever Kurt bestowed the full power of those incredible cesious eyes (at the moment amplified by the floods of sunlight from the bay windows) towards him, thinking rationally became difficult.
David pretended not to notice the steep drop in Blaine’s general intellect and simply rolled his eyes. But he said, “There are still a few rooms free at Windsor, you know.” Windsor House, in the East wing was one of the three dormitories of Dalton, the others being Hanover House, farther in the West wing, and Stuart House in the North wing. The South and Main was where all the major classrooms and facilities were housed.
Blaine nodded—just slightly too enthusiastically to be noticed. “We can talk to Mr. Howard for you. He’s the head of Windsor House.”
“Are you sure that’s all right…?” Kurt asked carefully. He had only been to Dalton for a few hours and was still getting his bearings, but even he understood that there were certain societal standings in the school.
Each dormitory was protective of its own fraternal pride and the boys often segregated accordingly when traveling in packs. Kurt marveled at the amount of gossip he’d heard about all this in under a day and concluded that boys talk generally as much as girls do.
“Of course it’s all right,” David smiled kindly. “Besides, even though the group is a big hodgepodge, there are more Warblers in Windsor than there are in Stuart and Hanover. We’re pressed for rehearsal time as it is—it’ll be easier for you to catch up if you were practicing with us. Assuming you get accepted, of course.” David looked almost apologetic as he amended that last part.
Kurt swallowed and let out his breath. “Right.” He nodded. “I get to finally try out.”
“Hey, don’t worry too much,” Blaine smiled. “You’ll get in, I’m sure.”
Kurt smiled faintly at him. “Thanks, but since you’ve actually never heard me sing, I’ll take your prophecy with a grain of salt.” He smirked and lifted one charming eyebrow.
“There’s Wes,” Blaine then waved his friend over in an attempt to not get snagged by another Kurt-gives-me-an-adorable-expression trap. “And he’s still alive! He dodged Madame Saint-Clair’s bullet.”
Catching sight of the other three, Wes jogged up to them, breaking free from the mass of boys that just came out of the French professor’s forum. David greeted him with a grin. “And how did it go? Was there blood? Your brain seems to be intact.”
“I refuse to study any more French,” Wes sighed with a little melodrama as propriety allowed—he had manifestly determined to help Blaine rein in the madness in Dalton so as not to scare the new boy too much just yet. “If I promise to refuse my parents’ yearly trip to Paris, I won’t need it anymore, right?”
The others laughed. “I’ll help you, if you like,” Kurt offered with a grin.
“You?” Wes raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the other two boys before turning back to Kurt, “No offense but…does McKinley drill juniors that hard on Advanced French?”
“Trust me—I can help,” Kurt said confidently. “I’ve over-exaggeratedly given emphasis on French.” The red and white uniform that was still hidden in the depths of wardrobe was a testament to that. “If you don’t pass next week’s oral, I’ll buy you lattes for a week.”
“Well, what do you know—we are just too lucky to have you.” Wes’ expression flashed to Blaine, implying something that the other boy might’ve previously said. Blaine colored up just slightly—but he did “accidentally” jab Wes in the ribs as he cleared his throat and moved forward to keep his place next to Kurt as they walked. The two behind them looked at each other and bumped fists with barely disguised snickers.
Blaine looked at Kurt and gave him a smile. Kurt returned it, still anxious, but felt better.